


Common Ground

by gardnerhill



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awesome Molly Hooper, Awesome Sally Donovan, Bechdel Test Pass, Community: holmestice, F/F, POV Molly Hooper, Sally Donovan Appreciation, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 21:35:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19093597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardnerhill/pseuds/gardnerhill
Summary: They share more than their treatment by a certain someone.





	Common Ground

**Author's Note:**

  * For [A_Candle_For_Sherlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Candle_For_Sherlock/gifts).



Molly stared into her Cosmo – her second one, her third? Maybe enough of them would make her forget this entire year. Hell, two more just might give her the guts to hand in her resignation and go somewhere far from London.

God, how pathetic had she been? As bad as Mum, trailing after that battering bastard with hearts in her eyes no matter how often he blackened them or threatened to do the same to Molly. Mum had cried for weeks after Dev had just disappeared one day, no doubt off to beat other women and drink their money. Molly had been unable to talk sense into the haggard, sobbing woman ("We're better off without him, better no man than a man like that"). 

Well, looked like the apple didn't fall far from the tree. If Sherlock had just hit her a few times she'd have recognized the behaviour. Instead she had happily trailed after him, accepting his indifference and outright neglect for those few moments of hope that always seemed to have an ulterior motive. For God's sake she'd helped him disappear for two years when he'd needed to be dead – and all it had gotten her was the same airy dismissal once she'd ceased to be useful. There was more than one way to smack a woman around, it seemed. 

That phone call was the last straw. She'd whimpered and begged for the words like a junkie groveling for a fix, and at that precise moment realised that she had become her mum. 

Enough, goddammit. Something had to change and it had to be now. First thing she was going to do when she got back to her flat was write Mum a long letter. Well, maybe sober up first, and then write the letter. After that? 

She couldn't think. She needed food on top of the alcohol. Chips. Chips would help. 

She looked up and around, trying to catch the eye of someone to order. Usual evening pub crush, doctors, other medical people, some police, one of them slumped a few tables away. …That was odd, police were even more cliquey than medical staff. That solitary one had a familiar silhouette; definitely police from the set of the shoulders and the half-alert look even drunk, but alone. 

Then the identity of the black woman registered with Molly, and with a surprising jolt of adrenaline she recognised the police sergeant she'd seen at more than one autopsy. Sally Donovan? Good God, how long had it been since she'd seen her at an inquest? 

…It had been just about when the papers had been shouting FRAUD and FAKE GENIUS and then he'd shown up in her lab as a fugitive, needing her help. Hadn't her name been mixed up in that mess, mentioned in one or two of those filthy rags? And when she'd been helping him get ready to die, he'd mentioned her more than once – with either flat-out disdain or at best the same dismissive tone he'd used on Hooper. 

Maybe she just wanted to be by herself, Molly told herself sternly. She might be waiting for someone – no, not with that posture. Alone, or possibly stood up. So Molly wasn't the only loner here. 

Hooper exhaled hard, and hopped off her stool to walk towards Donovan's table. "Mind if I join…?"

Oh. Sally had a book open. That was why her head and body were bent. Idiot. 

Donovan looked up from her reading material. "I'd rather be al– Dr. Hooper?" 

She nodded and made a social smile. "Sorry, Sergeant. Didn't mean to bother you. I'll go." 

"Wait." Sally stared straight at Molly, her dark eyes taking in the other woman's appearance and body language. The next thing she said was "What did that bastard say to you?"

Direct hit. That response from a skilled police sergeant's deductive acumen and blunt manner made Molly grip the table for support. Blunt truth for blunt truth. "It's what I made him say," she found herself whispering. 

*** 

"It began with those kidnapped kids." Donovan pulled another chip out of the basket. "He never did explain why he thought the boy was so extraordinary – probably the same reason most men think boys are better than girls, even if they call their bias 'logic'. And I was the one who found those bloody kids – if he hadn't been part of this, I'd have gotten a mention at the very least in the official report." 

Molly listened. She hadn't heard this part of that kidnapping case that had begun the investigation. 

"Look." Sally looked Molly in the eyes, and once again the coroner was stunned by their clear piercing intelligence and anger. "I know you have a thing for him, but I know what I see too. Everything he was doing set off my alarms. Serial killers love a show, they love taunting the police and bragging about how much smarter they are, they despise women, they sometimes show up at the murder scene and pretend to investigate their own crimes because they can't bear not being in the spotlight, they all think they're the single most important person in the world. Top it off with the girl screaming in terror when that bloody coat swirled into the room, and all I had to do was yell BINGO." Donovan spread her hands. 

"Occam's R-razor," Molly managed to say. Cosmos were great. 

Sally set down her own half-raised drink with a thump. " _Exactly_! This was either the work of a psychopath, or the chief suspect's theory that a criminal mastermind was creating all the evidence to frame _him_ as a psychopath." 

Psychopath… Jim had been the cuddliest guy when they'd watched the telly together, the most understanding listener, the most thoughtful companion. And all of it was just to get closer to his real target. Oh yeah she was her mum's kid all right, great judge of men, it's a wonder she didn't wind up in a skip and laid out on her own table for Dhani or Taj to autopsy… Hooper halted that train of thought, reminded herself that they'd all been played by a supremely clever monster - all, including the most intelligent man she'd ever known. He had no patience for anyone who wasn't as smart as he was, and didn't bother to hide it – not even when he himself was duped by that same monster. 

"Phillip and I were heroes for maybe two days. Then the Coat throws himself off a building and everyone looked at us like we'd pushed him. It only got better from there." Donovan took a big swig of her gin-and-tonic. "Does that answer your question, Doc?"

Oh yeah, about fifteen minutes ago Molly had said "How are you?" _Someone_ had clearly needed to spill their guts about this for a long time. "I … haven't seen you for a while." 

"Yeah. Funny how there just aren't any good assignments around when the station pariah shows up; the Coat had a fan club at New Scotland Yard, still does. The boss couldn't help me much, he was under investigation himself. Phil went crazy with guilt, he's still pinning photos to walls and babbling theories about how the bastard survived the fall." Sally shook her head. "I really know how to pick 'em." 

Molly put her hand on Donovan's before she even knew she was going to do it. "You're talking to the woman who fucking _dated_ the criminal mastermind."

Two sets of brown eyes fixed and held for a long moment. 

Then Sally laughed. "Good thing we lost them both. Ugh. Men. We need to talk about something else, anything else." 

Molly reached for another chip and saw the book once more. "What are you reading?" 

Donovan picked up the heavy tome, which Hooper could now see was entitled _Effective Police Leadership_. "I've been applying for Inspector. I can either sit in place and get shit on some more, or claw my way out and goddamn _make_ them respect me."

Molly felt her blood stir at that declaration. "That's wonderful." 

"Damn right." Sally bit a chip in two. "It's like climbing a glass mountain, though. Do you know how few DIs are women – and just about all of them white?" 

Pushing uphill and being beset on two separate fronts. "How long have you been applying?" 

"A year. More." Donovan showed her teeth in a humourless grin. "The first time was when the boss hit me with a car door during a tantrum. He didn't mean to, but it's not my fault he was having a bad day."

"What else have you been reading?" 

This segued into a discussion about the material, Donovan explaining the criteria for submitting the application, and how she added another book to her reading list after every rejection. This was a much more comfortable conversation and a lot less one-sided than Sgt. Donovan's rant. Academics, studying your arse off for tests – that was definitely something coppers and doctors had in common. Fighting to get something you know you can achieve…that was inspiring. 

"And you're doing this all on your own, Sally?" 

"The boss offered to be a mentor but I knew better than to take him up on it – he skipped out on the Waters bust because The Coat farted or something. Can't rely on him. Phil's off babbling to his Mulder wall, so scratch that. If I can't rely on Lestrade he can't run interference if I looked for assistance from the higher-ups who could mentor – and I don't know which of them would smile, and smile, and sabotage a black woman, and which ones are fans of The Coat and would go into this opposing me." 

Molly grimaced in sympathy. "No chance of joining a study group?" 

"I tried. Funny thing. I kept showing up to empty rooms or locked doors – turned out the meeting dates and times got switched around last-minute. Gosh, Sally, we're sorry, you know what coppers' schedules are like." Sally flashed her shark grin again. "Somehow none of the notices made it to my inbox." 

"What a coincidence." Molly tried to match Sally's sardonic tone. Jesus, that kind of bullying and the constant setbacks would have had her in tears months ago, but Sally just looked coldly angry. _Which means she blubs at home where no one can see._ "I wish I could help you."

"I've got this." Sally finished her drink. "And Molly? I'm the last person who should be giving you romantic advice, but –"

"But stay away from The Coat," Molly finished. "I finally figured that one out." That physical attractiveness had turned her head from the first time she'd seen him, his voice was an aural aphrodisiac, and none of it was for her. She'd fallen for that dark curly hair, that assertive personality, that attitude where he didn't give a damn who he offended…

Molly looked at Sgt. Donovan, visibly shunned by her colleagues but once again bending her dark curly-haired head toward the textbook, with the air of someone who needed a moment to shift position on the destrier and readjust her armour before clapping in her spurs once again. Before today she'd respected the woman. Now she admired her. 

"I'll leave you to it then. Good luck." 

"Mm." 

Hooper left the sergeant to her studies and headed out to find a cab home. Friday night, and both of them were going to be curled up with books for their hot dates. Huh. Earlier today that would have sounded pathetic. Now it felt peaceful.

It wasn't till she got home and fed the imperiously-miaowing Toby that she realised that she'd stopped considering leaving her job. 

The next day, once the hangover subsided, Hooper made a call, grasping the phone like a nettle before she could talk herself out of it. To her relief it went straight to his messages, and she hung up rather than leave the apology as a recording. Face to face it was, the next time they had to work with each other. 

She started cleaning her flat, and a bookcase-dusting turned into sitting on the floor surrounded by her medical texts, and checking her email to look again at the RSVP deadline for an upcoming forensics conference in Rotterdam (she'd immediately rejected the thought of going overseas at the time she'd gotten the notice; she was busy, she had things to do, people to possibly see in passing at the morgue). 

She checked her cupboards and the fridge. Ugh, shops again. Thank God there were loads more ready-to-eat options these days, they'd been getting better ever since more women started going out to work, and the lasagne at that one place… A light went on, and she grabbed her shop-bags and was out the door before she could talk herself back into status quo. 

Not surprisingly, a coroner walking into a police station at midday Monday with a heavy bag and a solemn expression was given a wide berth as she made a beeline for Donovan's desk and set it on her chair. She left before Sally could come back and find a week's worth of dinners and a scribbled note ("Happy Studying – MH"). Hooper quelled her apprehension (what if it's too much, what if she's insulted by this, what if she can't eat this for allergies or she's a vegetarian or something, what if she thinks it's pity). If Sally didn't want the food she could spread the packages around to the other cops here or to the local homeless. Molly Hooper wasn't a cop but she was a working woman too; every meal you didn't have to make yourself on top of the day's workload was a plus. 

Late that afternoon her email pinged, and her stomach clenched when she saw the **sdonovan@met.police.uk** address. She jabbed it open. 

_Molly: God bless you! I've had nights dining on tea and crisps, didn't have time or energy to get to Tesco's. This Friday, same time and place? Your first disgusting Cosmo is on me. S._

It took Hooper a while to realize she was sitting on her stool grinning inanely at her laptop screen. And it wasn't until she'd called it a day and was heading home before she realised that not long ago she'd have only felt and acted that way had the "S." been from someone else.

*** 

"So he starts in on me, right," Donovan illustrated the story with the toothpick in her hand, still chewing the olive that had been on it. "Thinks cos he's twice my size he'll send me flying the way he knocks his kids around." 

Hooper nodded, holding back a terrified laugh as the sergeant finished the story of flattening the GBH in three moves. Police stories had a certain recurring theme. The two women sat at one table, as paired up as all the other police and medical people in the place, and it seemed that Sgt. Donovan had a year's worth of socializing bursting to come out of hibernation. 

Sally swallowed the olive. "Sorry, hogging the talk a bit. Don't suppose you've got any stories about work, Doc?" 

Molly leaned forward as if entrancing a group round a campfire. "One time there was this _amazing_ lesion on this woman's brain…"

Both of them doubled over, laughing like hyenas. Another thing police and medical people had in common. 

"Where did you get that lasagna? It was supposed to be for two but I wolfed the whole thing when I got to it." 

"Isn't it good? I do that too, I've never been able to hold myself to half the carton." Molly pulled a slip of paper from her purse and began writing on it for the names of the shops and the entrees she'd collected. 

"Swapping phone numbers, girls?" a loud hearty man's voice came from behind Molly. She looked up to see Donovan go stone-faced. "Always wondered about you, Sally Gal." 

"Chief Inspector," was all Donovan said, but Molly could extrapolate from Sally's flat tone even before she turned around. Outranked her and Lestrade, possibly one of the people in charge of vetting her applications. Extremely _traditional_ , in the worst sense of the word; the kind that didn't understand how Those Bloody Mobiles work if he thought to imply the women were planning an assignation with that taunt. Would most definitely have a problem with Sally being lesbian on top of black and a woman. And anything cutting Molly wanted to say to this bloke would rebound onto Sally. She met Donovan's eyes, gave a little nod, and bit her lips shut to show she wouldn't say anything. Sally's shoulders relaxed just a little. 

Then Molly remembered a bit of superstition about her profession; this man was probably old enough to have heard it, and have it in the back of his mind. Hooper surreptitiously wrapped her right hand around the icy surface of her margarita glass. "Chief inspector?" she asked with nothing but politeness to a stranger, letting go of the drink and turning around. White-haired, craggy-faced. Perfect. "Good evening. I was going over some case notes with the sergeant." 

His eyes went straight to her breasts and then to her face. Hooper maintained her friendly expression. "You're a doctor?" 

_Why yes,_ Sherlock _, how clever of you to look at my white lab coat and deduce that._ "Molly Hooper," she said in her neutral-friendly voice and held out her hand for him to shake. And as he clasped her hand far too tightly – her cold, clammy hand – she added, "Coroner." 

He dropped her hand as if it was a hot coal and stepped back, a look of terror and revulsion on his face. Molly maintained the friendly, vacuous smile – don't bodge this up, don't bodge this up – as he backed away, not looking away from her. Another corner of the bar – no he was leaving, running away. Dead silence at their table. Then the clunk of the pub door closing behind him as he fled. 

Both women had to hang on to the table to keep from sliding under it, tears rolling and stomachs aching. "Do you know how long it's been since I've laughed like that?" Donovan gasped. 

"About five minutes," Hooper gurgled. 

"Can you, can you come with me t-to the next c-crime scene—" Speech was impossible for both for a while after that.

"See? There are advantages to being friends with someone who _consorts vith the deeaaddd_." Molly raised her fingers like vampire claws as she ended on a Bela Lugosi accent, before resuming her own voice. "There's an old wives' tale that undertakers' hands are cold. I thought he might be the right age to have heard it and half-believed it." 

"Oh my God, that was a master class. Give me your cold hand of death!"

They grabbed hands across the table, still laughing. Sally's hand was hot and dry, and she never flinched at the residual clamminess of Hooper's. 

Molly eventually relinquished her grip and resumed writing her list. Her cheeks were hot and she was very glad of the room's dimness. 

*** 

_Molly: There's a surefire way to make sure you only eat half the lasagne. It involves someone else eating the other half. Come over to my place instead of the pub Friday. We can watch_ Hot Fuzz _after. Address below. S._

*** 

_Sally: Turnabout is fair play. I'm no good at lasagna but I make a decent spaghetti. Hope you're not allergic to cats. Have you ever seen_ Babette's Feast _? M._

*** 

_Molly: Can't make Friday, stakeout. If you show up to the car with food I'll kill you. S._

_Sally: All right. Be careful. M._

*** 

_Molly: Sorry, can't make Friday, I have to get through this fucking book. Taking the exam on the 23rd. S._

_Sally: Understood. Let me know if I can help you study or feed you questions. Could swing by Marcini's en route. M._

_That would help. S._

*** 

_Sally: Going to Rotterdam for a conference next week. You'll have to study on your own. I'll bring back a Gouda and we can make Dutch Rabbit. M._

*** 

Female, black. Mid-thirties. Five foot five, hundred thirty pounds. Subject was in good health, well-nourished. Standard Y incision to open. Crack the ribs with the saw. Remove the heart for weighing… Not there. She moved through lungs and veins with her gloved hands, lifting up the liver, pushing stomach and pancreas aside looking for the missing organ. "It's here," she said calmly to the circle of coroners, police and detectives around the table. "It's hiding." 

Molly awoke and lay still for a long time, readjusting her sense of reality while Toby snored in a furry ball beside her. She had to tell herself four or five times not to call Sgt. Donovan. Of course, Sally's profanity at being awakened at 2am the morning she was to sit for her exam would definitely prove that that had been a dream… Hooper made herself go back to sleep. 

Much later that same morning Molly was in the lab trying to quell the butterflies and nausea she felt second-hand, when Sherlock walked in looking for sputum analysis. He looked better than he had the last time she'd seen him (hell, she'd seen corpses that had looked better the last time she'd seen him). He hesitated a moment, seeing her alone in the lab. 

"Sherlock. I want to apologise for what I said to you on the phone," she said as bluntly as Sgt. Donovan. He started at that. "I had no right to put you in that position, nor to demand those words out of you. I suppose I've finally decided to believe you when you say you're not interested," she added with a wry smile. 

The tall pale man stared at her. "Molly Hooper. Is there something different about you?"

 _Besides the spine I seem to have grown? Regaining my self-respect? Not centering my social life around an indifferent man?_ Molly grinned. "I've been…" Dating? "…socializing with someone new." 

And she looked at Sherlock – abrasive, assertive, intelligent, fierce in defending the works of his mind, blunt. Oh she had a type all right. Donovan wasn't tall and she didn't have a criminally beautiful coat, but other than that. 

One corner of Sherlock's mouth turned up in that strange smile. "Not a murderer, by any chance?" 

She smiled back, a real smile. "No. Not a murderer. Sorry. Just a boring normal person." 

"Ugh. _Those_." 

She laughed with him – honestly laughed, like friends – and indicated where the samples were stored before returning to her own work. She didn't watch him leave. She paused only long enough to type and send _Sally: Good luck, you've got this. M._ , and went back to her cultures.

If she didn't pass… 

Molly snorted. This was Sally fucking Donovan. She'd stop long enough to get another police manual to take home, wait till she was safe in her flat before crying and swearing for a few hours, get drunk, go to sleep, and start all over again. 

Somehow she got through the day's work. Going back to her place just long enough to feed Toby and pick up some things, she headed back out to Donovan's flat. 

More waiting. More butterflies. _Sally. You'll do it. If not today, then the hundredth time you sit for this. Just outlive that old pig and the blokes who think like him on the board, show them your worth the way you show me every day._

"That had better be you, Molly," a voice through the front door made her jump. Sounded exhausted. 

"It is," she called neutrally. Either way. Either way. 

Sally walked in. Oh shit, her body language. Molly stayed neutral, eyes on her friend. 

"I feel like I've been beaten by three guys with shovels for six hours." Sally walked to the sofa and sank into it. "They'll let me know tomorrow. Now what?" 

Molly took Sally's hand. "What do you need, sweetie?" 

Sally snorted. "What do any of us need? Respect. Respect would be nice. The opportunity to do our very best, instead of being shunted aside because you don't have the right skin colour or gender. Good work, the right work for me. Someone to come home to." She started a little at that. "Forget I said that." 

Molly's heart did a backflip. "Well, you've got me for now," she said lightly. Then she plunged forward with the courage she'd modeled after this woman's. "And I wouldn't mind being the someone you come home to." 

Sally looked at Molly. She looked so worn and tired. How many times had she done this alone? 

Molly opened her arms. Seconds later she held Donovan while the other woman shook as if in an earthquake, exhausted tears flying out of her. 

Molly held Sally and kissed her over and over. She'd been there. A good cry, a shower and sleep, and whatever tomorrow brought she'd be better able to face it. 

Sally gripped her back. "Stay," she muttered, voice choked. "Stay tonight." 

Hooper hadn't planned on doing anything else. 

When Sally raised her head, Molly had a handful of tissues to set her to rights. And only when she was upright, wet-eyed and still, did Molly move forward to kiss her lips, salty from her tears. "Go clean up, sweetie. And then come to bed." 

Donovan nodded, still shaking a little. 

Sally's bed was a full – not big enough for a queen but secure enough for two very good friends to lie together. By the time Sally emerged from the bathroom wearing a sleep shirt and panties, Molly was in the bed. Sally snorted at the pattern on Hooper's flannel pajamas. "Cats?" 

"I like cats," Hooper said defensively, but she was smiling. 

Donovan turned out the light and slid into bed, curling into Hooper's arms. Her heart thumped heavily in her chest; Molly could feel it beat against her. Well, there it is. Just hiding. 

"Thank you, Molly," Sally whispered. "For everything. It was so much easier this time." She raised her head and kissed Molly back. 

Molly hugged her hard. "Everything will be okay." 

"I know," Donovan said, and lay back down; she cried a little more but was soon asleep. 

Molly was awake longer – a strange bed and an awkward pose combining to hold her from sleep till past midnight. 

A phone awoke her. She saw Sally up and fully dressed, picking up her phone and sitting down. Oh God what time was it? Oh God the call – 

Molly pulled herself out of bed and sat almost at parade rest, ready for what came next. 

"Thank you for telling me," Sally said in an even tone. She thumbed off the device and set it down carefully. She drew a breath and straightened up as if facing a firing squad. 

"Sally, I'm sorry," Molly said softly. 

Sally turned and glared at her. "That's 'Inspector Donovan' to _you,_ Hooper," she snapped. 

Molly stared. 

Sally. Grinned. 

Their scream lasted for forty-six seconds.


End file.
